


because i saw

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Cousy Rewatch, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, Porn with Feelings, Scars, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Daisy has to cut one of her sparring sessions with Coulson short.Written for the Cousy Rewatch at johnsonandcoulson.com





	because i saw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hamsterfactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamsterfactor/gifts).



“Daisy, please, talk to me.”

Coulson follows her into the locker room, and she has to take a moment before facing him.

But she has to face him, she can’t let him believe he has done something wrong, or that he should worry about her.

“It’s nothing,” she says, first, because it’s nothing, and out of habit.

“You just bolted and…”

She admits that. She kind of run away, making some excuse about having already had enough of their sparring session, mumbling something about feeling tired.

They’ve been doing that, sparring together, as a regular thing, since they came back to Earth from their space adventures. At first she didn’t use her powers in a fight too much, but Coulson has been encouraging her more and more, arguing he wanted to learn how to deal with that kind of situation himself. Today he had gotten a bit smug about kicking her to the floor two times in a row and Daisy had used her powers to throw him against the gym bars, holding him up higher than herself. Coulson had kicked her in the face and gotten himself free and it was a fun moment (she didn’t know sparring with him would be this much fun) but he had needed a moment to put his t-shirt in place, as it had rolled up right up to his chest as Daisy dropped him, his back against the walls. It was a truce moment and Coulson trustingly turned around to fix his clothes, so what Daisy saw was the skin of his back exposed as he rolled down the t-shirt.

Something had happened then - something she only half-understands - and she kind of bolted, declaring their training session over.

She really looked like some crazy woman back there.

Coulson is worried, legitimately confused.

“Is it because of your powers? You didn’t hurt me,” he tells her.

He leans on the locker next to her, studying her face with his habitual kind gaze. But Daisy has a flash of what she saw and she’s not sure she can untangle what the problem is, let alone explain it to him.

But it’s Coulson, so she tries.

“I saw,” she says.

“What?” he asks, his brow wrinkling a bit.

He’s so… _whole_ , so alive, every part of him seems to pulsate with precious life to Daisy right now. Her heart aches just look at that brow furrowing.

“Your scar… on your back,” she admits.

Coulson takes half a step back from her.

“Oh.”

She tries to understand why it affected her that much.

She just wants him to know she’s not disgusted or anything. It’s not it. It was the shock.

“I didn’t think that there’d be one on the back too…”

“You didn’t?”

She knows what happened. The entry wound, she thinks. Much bigger than the one on his chest. Coulson had been attacked the coward’s way. But somehow it had never occurred to her. Her mind had refused to go there, so seeing a strip of scarred skin, even for a moment, a flash, as Coulson rolled down his t-shirt, was a shock she wasn’t prepared for. Especially without warning, in the middle of sparring, with Coulson innocently smugly smiling because he had been able to escape her grip.

“When you told me about how Fury had revived you,” she goes. “I saw the pictures but…”

“You only saw the front,” he finishes.

Daisy admits she didn’t pay much attention to the pictures, when he saw them to her as she was recovering from two gunshots and dealing with the GH-325 on her own. Only enough attention to understand his explanation. Her eyes never lingered. They couldn’t. She didn’t want _that_ imprinted on her mind forever.

“I read the file, it said what Thor’s brother did to you, how the staff had gone through, but until today it never clicked…”

Her voice breaks a bit, and it takes all her pride not to look away in embarrassment.

Coulson comes closer again. He looks like he wants to comfort her, of all things.

“Sorry it upset you,” he says quietly.

Daisy’s eyes widen in shock.

“Sorry? Sorry it-?”

She cuts herself off, pushing Coulson against one of the lockers and kissing him.

She can’t stand the idea of Coulson and death, so she desperately searches for the opposite. Grabbing him by the back of the neck, opening his mouth with her tongue. This is the only way, she feels, the only way to push the thoughts of his scar, of Coulson being hurt like that, off her mind. 

It’s something else, too: it’s that something in the pit of her stomach understands why she had such a reaction, and it compels her to act on it, even if she still doesn’t have the words. She is savage, but Coulson is kissing her back, sort of, or at least keeping up. She runs her fingernails through his hair, her other hand twisted into his t-shirt, she can feel the fabric damp with his sweat, and it makes her want to get closer, press her whole body against him, against the locker.

Daisy is not used to following her impulses and her chest feels about to explode, but a pitiful voice in her head keeps saying _it’s okay, he’s kissing you back_ and more importantly _it’s okay, you haven’t ruined everything_.

“Oh Daisy,” he says with a falling sigh when she finally breaks the kiss, like this was too good to be true, like Daisy imagined the heroes of the novels she and the other girls used to read under the bed covers after lights out in St Agnes, the ones with the ridiculous illustrations on the wrinkled (from passing from 14-year-old-hands to 14-year-old-hands) covers. But Coulson doesn’t sound ridiculous, and Daisy doesn’t feel ridiculous hearing it.

He keeps saying her name in awe, and proceeds to kiss her face over and over, holding her face very carefully between his hands, very gingerly.

Daisy smiles at that, which encourages him to hold her in his arms, pull her to him.

His hands go everywhere, nervously grabbing at her back, the modern cut of her top, with thin straps across her back, leaving plenty of skin exposed where now she can feel Coulson’s fingers, careful but hungry.

“I’m sorry,” she says,but her voice is full of joy. What is she sorry for? Is it habit? Is she sorry she took so long to figure out how she felt about Coulson? Or is she saying sorry because she feels the world owes Coulson an apology, because he should never be hurt like that, because she doesn’t deserve the scars, beautiful as they are to her? Maybe a bit of each.

“Daisy…” Coulson mutters, kissing her forehead. Is he just going to repeat her name over and over from now on? Daisy is not entirely against that plan.

But she is still following the thought that has brought her to his mouth in the first place.

“What I don’t understand is… the GH drug completely healed my wound. Why didn’t…?”

“It probably did.” Coulson tells her, stopping his kisses but not his hands over her back, her shoulders, he keeps touching him like he can’t decide where he should be touching her. “But I couldn’t suspect anything was off, and I remembered being stabbed, so they’d probably just…”

He trails off, unable to complete the thought, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” Daisy says, kissing his eyelids.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he tells her.

No, it’s not fine, she thinks, and she kisses him again, rough again, but now Coulson reacts in kind, with teeth and with his hands dropping from her back and cupping her ass, _grabbing_ her ass, making Daisy shiver and press her hips against his.

This kiss only lasts a moment but it’s confirmation of what they both want. And it’s enough to leave them breathless, speechless, for a moment. 

“Can I see?” Daisy asks.

He looks a bit surprised but he doesn’t hesitate as he starts pulling at his t-shirt.

The scent of him hits her as Coulson lifts his arms to take it off. She’s smelled his sweat many times - and he has smelled hers, one can only imagine, now that they are sparring partners. It has never bothered her. But this is different. Now it’s… well, _hot_ , in Daisy’s head.

She’s so distracted by her own sudden desire that she needs a moment to focus on what Coulson is showing her. His naked chest.

This scar she had only seen in pictures, in black and white, over a dead Coulson (she can’t think- no, her mind refused to accept those words then, and it’s even harder now, when a very alive, very present Coulson is in front of her, breathing, if a bit laboriously), and she had been horrified. But seeing it now it doesn’t look as much as a proof of death as a proof of life. The pink flesh looks tender despite the scarring. She reaches out and puts her hand over Coulson’s heart. 

He drops his head a bit to kiss her (suddenly Daisy likes that he is not that tall, that they are no a level, whereas in the past she’d fallen for men who tower over her, men she had to painfully stretch her body to reach), slowly, sweetly, and dirty, his tongue running over her lips, exploring, tasting. She moans a bit, the feeling of Coulson’s cocky smirk against her mouth making her blush, yet something she’d like to feel again.

Coulson lets her go, Daisy running her fingers through soft, gray hair, dropping her fingers and skimming over his stomach, his skin glistening with sweat, a good look.

“Turn around,” she says.

He swallows and nods, doing what she tells him. He rests his forearms on the locker before him, as he shows his back to Daisy.

This time she touches the scar directly, carefully, feeling his body tense and them relax every time her finger presses against a new spot. This is what caused it all, Daisy thinks, now brushing her thumb along the length. She’s not sure what she means. Does she mean this caused it all in the sense that this scar brought Coulson to her, that without it things would have been different between them or that they might have never met? Or does she mean seeing this scar today had changed everything once more? And is there a difference between the two? She doesn’t believe in fate - correction, she doesn’t believe in _good_ fate, but it’s hard not to believe Coulson and her are somehow connected in a extraordinary, incomprehensible way.

She kisses the scarred line, from the top of it to where the strip becomes narrower and finally disappears, above the small of Coulson’s back. She hears his soft panting.

“Please,” _she_ asks, slipping one arm around Coulson’s middle, and her hand under the band of his sweatpants.

Coulson says nothing, he just nods. Seconds later Daisy has her fingers gently wrapped around his cock.

Because she’s not sure what she’s doing here, but she wants the opposite of whatever hurt Coulson, whatever cut into him and left him scarred. And she thinks that’s it. 

Of course this is not entirely altruistic, she realizes. She really wants to get into his pants, it turns out. 

“Daisy…” Coulson breathes when she starts touching him, and it sounds like the cover of a trashy romance novel again. Daisy moves her hand, wanting to her that again.

Except instead there’s silence, and suddenly that’s much better, it’s the silence of Coulson’s breath, and the feel of his cock hardening under her fingers, the silence of his hips chasing her touch and Daisy’s hips pressed against his ass to release her own arousal and then the moans that get stuck in his throat and never make it out but Daisy can still hear them in that silence.

She presses her open mouth to Coulson’s nape as she picks up the rhythm, dropping little comforting kisses while he thrusts into her hand. She noses the back of his head, inhaling until she can smell the scent of his usual shampoo (and Daisy didn’t know she _knew_ how Coulson usually smells like until now, it was just something so ingrained into her daily life, for years) under the sharp smell of sweat.

She hears Coulson’s forehead hit the door of a locker and that a sharp, audible moan break that silence. 

A few seconds later he is coming in Daisy’s hand.

It’s so satisfying, in the way that she’s aroused but she doesn’t need to take care of that right now, the slight discomfort of being wet and wanting him and knowing she’s not going to do anything about it for a bit yet is pleasurable in her own way. It’s pleasurable just to hold Coulson as he comes down, and his breathing becomes more even little by little, his whole body becoming tender under her touch, his cock softening between her fingers.

She rests her chin on top of his shoulder, and suddenly chuckles.

“What?” Coulson asks, confused, still catching his breath, looking at her over his shoulder.

She chuckles again. “Nothing,” she shakes her head, not wanting to worry him more than she already had. “Nothing, I just… I love you, you know?”

It’s weird to get all romantic with her hand still inside Coulson’s sweatpants.

He goes very quiet for a moment, and Daisy fears she’s misread the whole thing. Then he turns his head, stretching to reach her, and kisses the top of her right eyebrow.

“I know,” he says. “Me too.”


End file.
